


Better In 3D

by hostagesfic



Category: McFly
Genre: Comeplay, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, Implied Tipsiness, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a sweet snuggle for about four minutes before Tom feels Dougie’s dick poking at his hip, Dougie absentmindedly petting Tom's sides and tummy with warm, curious fingers. Tom clears his throat when Dougie finds the strip of skin between Tom's pants and tee, but Dougie doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>Tom clears his throat again. "You're, uh, poking me a bit, Doug."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better In 3D

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY WADE!! Sorry this is a day late, we sort of started on short notice but wanted to make sure this was GREAT for you. We hope you love it as much as we loved writing it!
> 
> This is set in the band house, sometime around Wonderland, as Dougie is 17. We might've fudged up the timeline a tad but it's not really a big part of the plot. The ~implied relationships~ in our tags refer to Tom and Danny having messed around before and an offhand reference to Tom and Giovanna having phone sex.

Tom’s just gotten under the duvet, plugged his phone in and set it on the tiny bedside table tucked under the gable of the roof and ready to settle into the nice buzzing in his head, when Dougie shows up in his doorway. He’s rubbing at his eyes, looking particularly small in his loose plaid pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt grabbed out of Danny’s laundry. 

Tom sighs and pats beside him on the mattress. It won’t be the first or last time they share a bed. "C’mon, then."

Dougie pads over, crawls into bed where Tom’s lifted the covers and snuggles up to Tom, a tiny, cuddly parenthesis on his side, offering a soft _Thanks_ once he’s settled.

It's a sweet snuggle for about four minutes before Tom feels Dougie’s dick poking at his hip, Dougie absentmindedly petting Tom's sides and tummy with warm, curious fingers. Tom clears his throat when Dougie finds the strip of skin between Tom's pants and tee, but Dougie doesn’t seem to notice.

Tom clears his throat again. "You're, uh, poking me a bit, Doug."

Dougie giggles, awkward and muffled, presses his face into Tom's shoulder and holds his hips stiffly back and away from Tom's side. "Sorry, you're just really warm," he mumbles, nosing at Tom's throat. He's right where Danny usually latches on onstage, leaves marks most nights now.  

Tom's just drunk enough to feel uninhibited and curious. "This turns you on?"

"Everything turns me on," Dougie says, honest. "Especially you."

"Jesus, Dougie," Tom huffs, because that's—he's far from the fittest member of this band. Dougie is seventeen and drunk and hallucinating, probably. Maybe he thinks he's gotten into Harry's bed. Except in the dim light filtering in through the curtains, Dougie looks dead fucking serious. "You taking the piss?" Tom asks warily. 

Dougie blinks, slowly, and shakes his head. His tongue feels very thick, all of a sudden, with Tom looking at him like that. He slides his hand up under Tom's shirt at his hip, a more eloquent answer than he can give with words right now.  

Tom makes a desperate attempt to keep his face blank, but it probably just looks like a pained grimace to Dougie. "What would we do?" He asks, suddenly, licks his lips. "If we. Y'know." _Actually got off._

"Anything you want," Dougie breathes. His head is spinning, an entire back-catalogue of gay porn he's downloaded and saved in a folder as _tintacle p0rn_ to keep it away from Harry playing like a flipbook behind his half-closed eyelids. 

He clears his throat, feeling self-conscious. He shouldn't scare Tom off. "I mean, I like everything, so it's, uh, whatever." He's relatively sure he likes everything, anyway. In theory, if not in practice. 

Tom nominally has an idea of what _everything_ might entail, and it's daunting and not at all the sort of thing he'd just _do_ whilst buzzed off the shitty lager Danny insisted was great. For what it's worth, at least he's snogged Dougie before; maybe a bit of that will tire him out and he'll fall asleep and they'll forget about this by morning. "Right. Show me, then."

Dougie blinks again, and promptly crawls over on top of him, straddling Tom's thighs and laying heavy across his chest. He leans in close and starts at Tom's cheek, a tiny peck of a kiss, then moves to the corner of his mouth, surprisingly careful. 

Tom's about to make a half-thought out joke when Dougie lands on his mouth properly, a surprised sound muffled between their mouths. Dougie tastes a little bit like mint, sort of like he brushed his teeth but not long enough, sloppy, a subtle contrast to the cool metal of his new lip ring. Tom’s momentarily thankful he’d brushed his own teeth before Dougie showed up, but when Dougie sucks at his lower lip, sweetly and then going sharp with his teeth digging in, the thought gets lost. Tom jerks up into it helplessly, kissing back harder, and Dougie moans, loudly. He lets Tom's lip go with a smacking noise and licks at his own lips, bumps Tom's tongue with his. 

Dougie pulls back after a moment, his hand playing in Tom's hair with no idea how it got there. It's just soft, silky running through his fingers. "That okay?" He hopes this isn't too weird, that Tom isn't put out with him. 

“It’s a start,” Tom mutters. His cheeks feel warm and he’s got the beginning of what he wishes were his weirdest boner ever, but. He’s done weirder. He’s got no fucking clue where the sudden bravado came from; something about Dougie being younger and Tom being older fucks with his confidence, making him feel like he should be in charge somehow.

“Don’t want me to stop?” Dougie breathes, his thumb tracing Tom’s jaw. 

Tom laughs, a squeaky, ridiculous giggle he _knows_ Dougie would make fun of him for in any other situation. “Not really,” he hums, raises his hands from where they’ve been idling awkwardly at his sides to Dougie’s hips. “G’on. What next?”

“Uh,” Dougie says, slowly. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, even when he’d said _everything_. He’d meant like, _most_ and approximately 80% of that in theory. “I dunno, I’ve never done this, like, stuff.” He’s abruptly aware of how hard he is, tucked into the softest bit of Tom’s thigh. How stupid it must sound, admitting only now that he has no idea what really comes next.

Tom keeps very, very still as he says, quietly, “I have, a couple of times? There’s, uh. There’s only so much to do in a hotel room with Danny when a song’s not working out. So.”

Dougie stares down at him, shifts on his elbows nervously. “Honestly?” 

“Honestly,” Tom nods. He can feel how red his face has gone, can only hope it’s dim enough in his room that Dougie can’t tell.  

“Honestly,” Dougie repeats, sounding awed.

“Basically an expert, me,” Tom laughs, quickly adds, “I’m kidding, Jesus, Dougie,” when Dougie’s eyes go wide as saucers. He was sort of banking on Dougie being too tired to move past this point, but now he’s wide awake, buzzing with energy and a persistent hard-on on top of Tom.

“I’ve just watched a lot of porn,” Dougie says, mournfully. 

“Of course you have,” Tom laughs. “Fuck.” 

“No, like, that’s all I’ve done with blokes,” Dougie says, voice small, smile lop-sided. “Just watched a lot of porn where dudes get pounded or suck each other off, I dunno. They never show what comes before that bit.”

“That aspect of porn does sort of suck,” Tom concedes. He never really considered the possible didactic aspects of porn. “I... honestly dunno if we’re gonna get to all that stuff, but I could jerk you off, maybe?” The thought of anyone getting pounded at the moment sounds equal parts daunting and exhausting.

Dougie beams. “That’d be cool.” He wriggles his hips down against Tom’s, the fabric of their pajamas and pants catching, friction warm between them. 

Tom angles his own hips up, challenging; usually in their games of chicken Dougie’s giggling and scrambling off by this point, but now he’s panting against Tom’s cheek, clumsily rocking his hips in time with Tom’s. “Cool,” Tom huffs, kisses Dougie again.

Dougie nuzzles his nose against Tom’s, tries to stop smiling long enough to kiss him back. It’s just really awesome, is all. He could do this all night. He can feel Tom’s cock shoved up against his, even through the layers of fabric.

Tom moves his hands from Dougie’s hips to his lower back, tucks his fingertips into the waistband of Dougie’s pyjama pants experimentally, pushing Dougie down as he angles up.

“Oh,” Dougie says, sounding surprised. “Oh, that’s. Sick, fuck, do it again.”

Tom grins up at him, pleased and feeling a little more in control. “What’s the magic word?” 

“Fuck you,” Dougie whines, “please, Tom.”

“Naughty,” Tom chides him. He still slips his hands past Dougie’s waistband, properly grabbing his ass to press him down into Tom’s hips and kissing Dougie’s choked moan right off his mouth. Dougie’s ass is fuzzier than Danny’s, or any girl he’s been with for what it’s worth, which is sort of funny, in a way that makes him giggle with his mouth still shoved up against Dougie’s. It’s far from sexy; the giggling, that is.

“What,” Dougie demands, pulling back and jutting his lower lip out pathetically. He quite likes Tom’s laughter most times, but not when he’s nervous it might be at his expense. He knows he’s putting himself out here, being more than slightly easy for it, but he doesn’t want it to be a joke. 

Tom purses his lips against a smile. “Just—thinking about your bum,” Tom grins, hoping Dougie doesn’t take it to mean anything bad. “Not laughing like, at it or anything, just... Just ignore me, Doug,” he feels his cheeks warm.

“Can’t ignore you,” Dougie retorts quickly. “You’re un-ignorable, Tom Fletcher.” He pauses, as what Tom had actually said sets in. “Wait, what about my bum? I know it’s not like, Natalie Portman’s or anything.” 

“You’ve got a nice one,” Tom offers, squeezing one of Dougie’s cheeks.

“Thanks for liking my hairy dude ass,” Dougie lifts himself up to look at Tom properly. “If that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not—god, shut up,” Tom rolls his eyes, pulls his right hand out of the back of Dougie’s pants just to shove it in the front and feel out his cock, quick like a band-aid before he can overthink it.

Dougie yelps, right in Tom’s ear, and wriggles unhelpfully, making Tom clutch at his waist with his other hand to keep them from rolling over the edge of the mattress. Actually, it’s not a bad idea, even if Tom doesn’t want to end up on the floor. It’s easy enough to execute, Dougie still squirming as Tom rolls him over and pins him down, hand still in his pants. “Stay still for half a sec, would you,” Tom hisses. “I’m the expert, remember?”

“But you’re _touching_ me,” Dougie whines, one hand fisted at the front of Tom’s shirt, the other clutching at the sheets. Tom traces his cock with his fingertips, presses his palm to the base, heel grazing Dougie’s balls, and Dougie can’t think straight.

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Tom offers, ducks his head to swipe his tongue over Dougie’s lip ring. “You can always say and I’ll stop, if you don’t like it,” he adds, softer.

“Don’t stop,” Dougie says, quickly. “But maybe I could do you too?” He shrugs his shoulder, where his arm is sort of pinned under Tom’s. It seems unfair that he isn’t getting to touch Tom’s cock, if they’re doing that now. He’s a little afraid if he doesn’t get to do _something_ he’s going to think too hard about Tom’s hand being on his willy and embarrass himself. 

“G’on,” Tom nods, rubs his knuckles over the curls at the base of Dougie’s cock and then properly wraps his hand around him, pulling his foreskin down in a gentle stroke. He doesn’t _want_ to compare him to Danny, but it’s inevitable when that’s the only point of reference he has aside from his own as far as cocks go. Dougie’s feels a bit heavier in his hand, a bit bigger, maybe, in a nice way.

Dougie honestly has no idea what Tom’s even talking about. His hand is so warm, and going tight around his cock, and it takes him a long few seconds to figure it out. He’s supposed to reciprocate, right. “Right,” he nods, vigorously, almost knocking Tom’s chin. He pulls his arm free from under Tom’s and fumbles it between them in the vague direction of Tom’s erection. It’s somewhere caught against his leg, but Dougie’s having a hard time telling what’s up and down right now.

Tom lifts his hips a little, hoping it’ll ease the process for Dougie. “A _ha_ ,” he says, when Dougie gets his calloused fingertips on his cock, and then promptly drops his forehead, veering away from Dougie’s at the last minute to shove his face against the bed. That could’ve been disastrous and very unsexy, butting heads like idiots over _handjobs_.

Dougie grins, pleased at Tom’s prompt reaction, and runs his fingertips up around the head teasingly, dragging his thumb across the slit. It’s a nice surprise when Tom turns out to be a little wet there already, and Dougie refocuses his efforts at rubbing the slick down the underside of his cock and into his foreskin. “Good thing I’ve already seen your willy,” he points out. “I might be disappointed if I didn’t know what it looked like and was trying to wank you off.”

“Jesus, Doug,” Tom groans, tilts his head to the side so he can nip at Dougie’s neck, pulling Dougie off slowly. He should’ve seen this coming: Dougie’s one for particularly dirty talk on a casual, everyday basis, so it should really be no wonder he’d have interesting shit to say in bed.

Stretching his neck out for Tom to get at, Dougie hums at the ceiling, tightens his hand on Tom’s cock. He has no idea what Tom’s standard wank is, so he’s going for a leisurely version of his own increasingly-invested-in-the-porn technique. 

Tom’s a bit overwhelmed already, face hot and muscles aching with the effort to hold himself up so he won’t crush Dougie and so there’s enough room between them to wank. Dougie’s skin tastes like sweat and faintly like the stupid aftershave he wears, and even though Tom sort of regrets not getting their clothes off before they got going, he jerks Dougie’s cock steadily, squeezing around the base in hopes of getting Dougie to make happy little sounds.

Tom isn’t going as fast as Dougie might by this point on his own, but it’s not something he’ll complain about. It’s better than porn, anyway, just by virtue of the fact it’s in actual 3-D and with someone else—Dougie briefly wonders if there might be a market for that, 3-D porn, would you buy a pair of glasses at the sex shop or would it come with each DVD, and would it look a bit funny if you were wearing cardboard glasses as you wanked? He shakes his head to clear it, blinks rapidly, and realizes Tom’s gone a bit sweaty at the edges of his hairline when he re-focuses. That’s a nice compliment.  

“C’mon,” Tom mutters, panting hotly against Dougie’s neck, picking up the pace. He wonders, for a second, if getting a hand on Dougie’s balls would speed this along; he did seem to like it when Tom grazed them before, but Tom’s not too confident on his ability to hold himself up over Dougie with both hands occupied. He settles for longer strokes, nudging the side of his hand against the seam of Dougie’s balls on the downstroke.

“Faster, yeah,” Dougie pants, and it’s hard to let his mind wander off with warmth building in his gut. Usually he’d be on edge with a bandmate on top of him, wary of stray hands trying to twist his nipples or slap his junk or undress him in inappropriate places, but having Tom on top of him now makes him feel grounded and needy, turns him on even more.

He’s having trouble concentrating now, or at least concentrating on anything besides Tom’s hand on his cock and Tom’s breath against his throat. He remembers Tom’s willy every few seconds, squeezes his hand reflexively like it’ll make up for the way he’s entirely lost pace. Tom doesn’t seem to mind too much, is doing the work himself now with every snap of his hips down against Dougie’s thigh, fucking into his loose fist. 

"Gotta work on your multitasking," Tom chides him, laughing into Dougie's neck. If anything Dougie's loss of rhythm makes it that bit easier for Tom to redouble his efforts on Dougie's cock.

Something in Tom's reproving tone makes Dougie's tummy clench, hot and hopeful. They're always saying what a naughty boy he is. He means to tell Tom he'll do better, or maybe suck him off after—it looks cool online—but instead he just whines, breathless as Tom twists his fingers around the head of his cock, rubbing the foreskin around.

“C’mon, Doug,” Tom insists, rubbing his thumb along the vein on Dougie’s cock. “Haven’t got all night,” he adds, on a hunch that Dougie _likes_ the pressure, the hint of embarrassment, if his ragged breathing and desperate squirming is anything to go by.

Dougie hisses and bucks up against Tom’s weight on his hips, coming in quick spurts through his fingers and blinking up at him blearily. It feels like every tendon in his body’s been cut loose, and he’s limp, completely malleable beneath Tom. 

“Fuck,” Tom groans emphatically, keeps his hand moving on Dougie’s cock through the aftershocks. Dougie’s hand on his cock has gone completely still, save for a few twitchy squeezes of his fingers below the head. “Fuck, he repeats.

Whimpering, Dougie rolls his head on Tom’s pillow, swallows compulsively. Tom’s hand is a bit much, still firm when his cock is starting to go soft, but he likes that it isn’t up to him. He knows Tom won’t hurt him, or not in a bad way. He nuzzles his face against Tom’s shoulder, as if he can convey the sentiment without words. 

After a moment, Tom starts to feel like his balls might be going a bit blue. “Doug, you gonna do me or can I finish myself off?” He keeps his voice light, gentle, to keep from ruining the perfectly nice afterglow at least one of them is having.

“Oh,” Dougie yawns, “Yeah, yeah, I can—um,” he drifts off, mouthing at Tom’s shoulder. “Do you maybe just want to, like, come on me?”

Tom laughs, the tiniest bit hysterical. “So _naughty_ ,” he grins, finally takes his hand off Dougie’s cock and out of his pants, haphazardly shoves the hem of Dougie’s shirt up and then uses the same sticky hand to bat Dougie’s away from his prick, eager to finally get off.

Dougie runs his fingers up Tom’s thigh, into the pubes below his bellybutton and across the planes of his lower belly, thumbs at his hip lazily. Tom’s hand is moving fast over his cock, pointing the head down towards Dougie’s own stomach like he means to follow Dougie’s suggestion. It’ll be nice, Dougie decides, fuzzily. He gets his own spunk all over himself on a daily basis, but Tom’s is slightly more novel.

Tom arches his back to watch himself, head ducked and half-resting on Dougie’s shoulder. He’d be embarrassed to come quickly in any other situation, but this time it feels like he can’t get there soon enough, eyeing the soft, pale skin of Dougie’s lower belly, the peek of dark hair at the edge of his waistband and trailing up to his bellybutton. “Fuck,” he grunts, hips twitching, and comes in stripes over Dougie’s tummy, hand moving quick and loose over his dick.

Dougie hums contentedly, watching it all with half-lidded eyes. It’s hot landing on his skin, not something he catalogues during his own wanks, a little too preoccupied with the sensation of relief. Objectively, it looks good too, like some modern art piece that’d go for hundreds of pounds in a gallery. He rubs his fingers through it curiously, glancing up at Tom. “I’m a dirty boy,” he grins, indicates the further mess he’s making. 

Tom moves off Dougie clumsily and collapses on his back, head tipped to the side, eyes glued to Dougie and the mess going tacky on his skin. “Very,” he sighs, sweaty and spent and endeared. “Look at you.”

“I like it when you do,” Dougie says, soft. “Look at me.”

Tom considers shoving his messy hand in Dougie’s face, but he’s too tired to wrestle, and Dougie looks like he might be ready to pass out soon. He leans over and kisses Dougie instead, tugs at his lip ring gently with his teeth. “You tired enough to sleep yet, Butty?”

Nodding, Dougie rubs his nose against Tom’s in a sleepy eskimo kiss, sighs. “Can I stay with you?”

“Not gonna kick you out,” Tom rolls his eyes, fond. He feels kind of gross, sweat cooling on his back and at his hairline. “Hang on,” he mutters, and reaches with his free hand between the headboard and the mattress for the pack of wet wipes stashed there. It’s helpful for late night calls to Giovanna when he doesn’t want to walk shamefully to the bathroom after and have Danny yell at him from down the hall.

“Ooh,” Dougie smiles tiredly. “Fancy.” He holds his hand out for a wipe, his smile spreading as Tom bats his hand away and goes for the mess on his stomach himself. 

Tom pinches the soft skin at Dougie’s side, swipes at a glob of come threatening to drip into Dougie’s bellybutton. “How’d that compare to porn, then?” He asks jokingly.

“It’s like, 3-D, isn’t it?” Dougie shrugs. “Except no shit cardboard glasses, just, like.” He waves his hand in an approximation of a wanking motion.

“Go to sleep, you weirdo,” Tom laughs, quickly wipes himself clean and tosses the soiled wipes off the side of the bed, then drapes his arm over Dougie’s middle.

“You go to sleep,” Dougie grumbles, and kicks at Tom’s ankle beneath the sheets. It smells a little sharp in the warm air of Tom’s tiny room, but it’s cozy enough that Dougie can close his eyes and drop off almost instantly. 

 

 


End file.
